by Ian Edwards
Rosie let out an involuntary snort.
‘It’s no laughing matter, young lady. He gets all weird and sweaty when he comes in the shop to pay his rent. I had to have words. I told him. I said, this is a joke shop. People are supposed to laugh and smile and be happy and cheerful. I have a reputation to maintain,’ the man said, sternly.
‘As Mr Giggles?’ James asked innocently. Rosie turned her back to the shop keeper so he didn’t see her laugh.
‘Do I look like Mr fucking Giggles to you?’
‘Well, I thought it was either you or Pennywise in the window,’ James replied as Rosie grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out into the street, laughing.
‘You’d better cut that out before we meet Puddiphat,’ James said, grinning. ‘Come on, let’s find the right door.’
James and Rosie walked round the corner into the side street. A nondescript brown door stood next to Mr Giggles’ side window. ‘I guess this is it,’ James said and pressed the doorbell. Beside him, Rosie coughed and gently shook herself as if to shrug off any lingering fits of giggles. However, the more she focused on not grinning, the harder she found it to keep a straight face.
‘And you thought I was the childish one,’ James told her.
‘Sorry, I can’t help it.’
James shrugged and looked at his watch. 11am they were right on time. He pressed the doorbell a second time. A faint electric buzz creaked out from a small box followed by shouting. ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming, can’t you bloody wait?’
Rosie tried hard not to start laughing again.
James replied; ‘Sorry, I wasn’t sure you were in. It’s James Cook. I have an appointment at eleven…’ The door buzzed open and James stepped in to a small carpeted hallway leading to a flight of stairs. ‘Right, let’s do this,’ he said over his shoulder to Rosie as she shut the front door.
On reaching the top of the stairs, the friends saw an open door. ‘I guess we just go in,’ James said. ‘Knock knock,’ he added as an afterthought as he entered the flat.
‘Through here,’ came a voice at the end of a small hallway. James led Rosie to the end of the hall and into a small room made into an office. Behind the desk sat a man in a crumpled grey suit and a garish turquoise and orange paisley shirt. The man stood up, knocking several piles of papers from his desk. ‘Bugger,’ the man said as he stepped over the mess to greet the newcomers.
‘Hello. Cornelius Puddiphat,’ the man said, shaking James’s hand. ‘And you must be James. And who are you?’ he said, eyeing Rosie up and down before taking her hand and kissing her fingers.
‘Rosie. Rosie Talbot,’ Rosie replied, taking her hand back and wiping it on her jeans. ‘I’m just here for moral support. My friend recommended you. Geoff Baxendale. You followed his wife…’
James sniggered.
‘What’s he doing?’ Puddiphat frowned at James.
‘Nothing,’ Rosie said, slapping her friend on the arm. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘we’ve come to see you about a missing person.’
‘Yes, yes. Of course. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday. Come in, sit down, please,’ Puddiphat said motioning to two green and white deck chairs. ‘Sorry about the mess. I keep meaning to get a cleaner, but who has the time? So, your wife has run off?’ Puddiphat said, not taking his eyes off of Rosie, who squirmed under the gaze.
‘Yep. My wife, Amy. She’s gone missing and I need to find her. Can you help me?’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘I said my wife’s gone missing, and I need to find her.’
Puddiphat slowly tore his eyes from Rosie to where James sat, fidgeting. ‘Missing person, huh? Shouldn’t be a problem, proving she wants to be found. And if she’s not dead, of course.’
‘Dead?’ James repeated.
‘Relax, James, Mr Puddiphat was only joking,’ Rosie said and, realising her mistake, covered her mouth with her hands.
‘Oh, Miss Talbot. I wouldn’t joke about something like this…or anything else for that matter. Now, Mr Cook. How long has your wife been missing? Have you done the obvious, called the hospitals, the police?’
‘She left a note yesterday morning,’ James replied, handing over Amy’s note to the PI, who glanced at it briefly before returning it.
‘OK, so she’s not in the morgue or a police cell. It says she’s gone away for a bit. Any idea where?’
‘I wouldn’t be sitting here if I knew where she bloody well went you idiot…’
‘James!’ Rosie slapped him on the arm. ‘He’s only trying to help. Now answer the man.’
‘Sorry Mr Puddiphat, I’m just a little upset.’
‘Don’t worry, I get this all the time. Listen, James. May I call you James?’ Puddiphat looked for confirmation before continuing, ‘From the short note, I would deduce that she’s safe. For the time being at least. Now, do you have a photo that I can have?’
James reached into his jacket pocket and took out a large colour photo and handed it to the PI.
‘Thanks, I…oh, my…’ Puddiphat said. ‘Is this your wife? Really?’ he looked from the photo to James, back to the photo and again at James. ‘Lucky boy. No wonder you want her back.’
Rosie peered over the desk at the photo. It showed a tanned Amy in a very small white bikini, sunglasses and baseball cap, posing against a palm tree. ‘For goodness sake, James…’ she said, snatching the photo from the now trembling hand of the PI, and switching it for a much smaller black and white photo of Amy, fully clothed.
Puddiphat took the new photo, said thanks and stared again at James. ‘Seriously, this is your wife?’
‘Of course it’s my bloody wife. What are you trying to say?’ James raised his voice, Rosie placing a hand on his arm.
‘I mean no offence. It’s just that, well. Never mind,’ Puddiphat said, adding, ‘So, had you been arguing?’
‘Of course we’ve been arguing, we’re married. It’s what married couples do.’
‘Sorry, Mr Puddiphat, he’s just trying to be funny,’ Rosie smiled.
‘Why? Why would he do that?’ Puddiphat gulped before reaching into a desk drawer for a small bottle. He shook a couple of pills into his palm and swallowed them with a glass of water.
‘We had been fighting for a while, I suppose,’ James said at last. ‘About her drinking. She’s been getting pissed virtually every night.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Puddiphat replied.
‘What do you mean?’ James asked.
‘Well, come on,’ Puddiphat pointed at James.
‘Is he winding me up?’ James asked Rosie. ‘I thought he couldn’t do that. Isn’t he supposed to have a fit or something?’
Puddiphat frowned at James before Rosie spoke, ‘So, can you help us?’ she asked.
‘Of course I can help. I said I would, didn’t I? So, Miss Talbot, do you have a boyfriend, a fiancé, perhaps?’
‘I have a boyfriend, not that it’s relevant to the case,’ Rosie said defensively.
‘I’ll be the judge of that. So, what does your boyfriend do, Miss Talbot? I bet it isn’t as exciting as being a Private Investigator.’
‘He’s a comedian, actually,’ Rosie said.
‘Oh, God, is he funny?’ Puddiphat said, reaching again for his pills.
‘Not really, no,’ Rosie admitted.
‘That’s good.’
Rosie frowned. ‘I really don’t see what any of this has to do with Amy’s disappearance.’
‘I just needed a little background. First rule of Columbo. Get all the information. Rule nothing out. Look, leave it with me. I already have your number,’ he grinned at Rosie, ‘I’ll be in contact when I have something to show you…’
‘Thanks,’ James said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Puddiphat was hitting on Rosie.
‘Come on, James,’ she said, almost leaping from her deck chair, ‘we’d best let Mr Puddiphat get started,’ and all but raced from the room, leaving James in her wake. She turned to see that James wasn’t following her.
Sighing, she turned and re-entered the room.
‘So, I’m sorry mate, but I’ve got to ask,’ James said. ‘Doesn’t living above Mr Giggles give you problems?’
‘No, why?’ Puddiphat asked.
‘Well, what with you being…you know..?’
‘What with me being what, exactly?’
‘You know,’ James winked and circled his finger round his ear.
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s he talking about?’ Puddiphat asked Rosie, who was trying to pull James from the room.
‘Geliophobic,’ James said at last, nudging Rosie’s hand from his arm.
‘Who told you that?’ Puddiphat asked. ‘It was that Baxendale idiot wasn’t it? I never should have told him about his wife.’
‘I’m just concerned, that’s all,’ James said.
‘Well, thank you, Geliophobia is no laughing matter.’
‘Just as well,’ James sniggered as he turned and followed Rosie from the room.
Chapter 27 – Monday.
Rosie stepped out of the car and activated the alarm with the key fob. The heavy overnight rain had left large puddles all over the hospital car park and, having no desire to spend the day with wet feet, she made her way to where she could use the pavement. A longer but drier walk.
She had not slept well. Although she had put on a brave face for James’s sake, she was worried about Amy. For her to disappear without good reason was worrying. Rosie accepted that James, like Alan, could be very childish and annoying at times, but that alone shouldn’t be a reason to disappear. If it were, neither she, nor Amy would have stuck around very long. There had to be more to it than James was letting on. Any further thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing in her bag. Not recognising the number, she answered the call.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello. Is that Miss Talbot?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said tentatively.
‘It’s Cornelius Puddiphat.’
‘Mr Puddiphat,’ she said, surprised. ‘How can I help you?’ she paused. ‘You really should be talking to James.’
‘Oh, please call me Cornelius,’ he said. ‘It’s actually you I need to speak to.’
‘Oh?’
‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘Can you talk?’
‘I’m at work. Well, I’m walking through the car park at the moment, but I’m nearly there.’
‘Have you got a couple of minutes?’ he asked.
Rosie paused while an ambulance went past, blue lights flashing. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked.
‘Is there anything that you couldn’t tell me yesterday when you and Mr Cook visited me?’
Rosie thought for a moment. ‘No, nothing. The last time I saw Amy, she was more interested in what I was up to. She asked after my sister, but had nothing to say about herself or James other than a bit of a moan about the llama.’
‘The what?’
‘The llama. James bought her a llama.’
‘What possessed him to buy her a llama? Does she like llamas?’
‘She liked the ones she saw at the zoo. I guess James thought she’d like one of her own.’
The word dysfunctional sprung into Puddiphat’s head and he wondered if the best interests of both parties would be served if he didn’t find her.
‘Have you seen Mr Cook acting in an unusual or suspicious way recently?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for example has he had a new patio put down since his wife vanished, or has he made any trips to the local council rubbish tip with large rolls of carpet?’
Rosie laughed. ‘She’s only been gone twenty four hours. I doubt that James has even had the time to have a bath, never mind arrange some major DIY.’
Puddiphat shuddered at the casualness of Rosie’s laugh, but continued his line of questioning. ‘Would you know if he has had any large drums of acid delivered?’
‘Mr Puddiphat, I know…’
‘Cornelius please’ Puddiphat interrupted.
‘OK, Cornelius,’ Rosie said patiently, ‘I know where you’re going with this, but let me assure you that James hasn’t killed Amy. He hasn’t buried her in the garden, nor has he wrapped her in carpet and thrown her in the local dump, and I can assure you that he has most certainly not dissolved her body in acid. He’s not that clever, trust me.’
‘Miss Talbot, I am simply investigating all possible avenues of enquiry, however unlikely they may appear. And let me assure you that no line of enquiry is being neglected.’
‘I’m sure your enquiries are thorough, but don’t waste your time investigating James. Whatever’s happened to Amy, it’s nothing that James has done…’
Rosie came to a stop outside the hospital entrance. ‘I’m about to go into work now, so I’ll have to turn the phone off, unless there’s anything else you need to ask me?’
‘I think that’s enough to be going on with,’ Puddiphat said. ‘I’m going to be out and about today, knocking on doors and shaking trees - see what drops out. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Tell me Cornelius, do you think that you’ll find her?’ Rosie asked.
‘Miss Talbot I am extremely confident that I can find Mrs Cook, or at the very least find out where she is. Whether Mr Cook would want me to find her is a different issue, though.’
‘I told you, James is not the reason that Amy is missing.’ Rosie paused before adding, ‘of course he wants her found.’
‘My dear Miss Talbot, you are only looking at this situation through the eyes of Mr Cook. Not through the eyes of his wife.’
‘I’m sorry I don’t understand. What do you mean?’
‘In the absence of foul play, which you have assured me is not the case , Mrs Cook has run away from her husband and home whilst her husband was asleep, leaving no forwarding details and without her mobile phone. This means she has no way of being contacted. To take these steps is clearly supportive of her wish not to be found.’
‘I see,’ Rosie said quietly, seeing the logic in Puddiphat’s words.
‘Anyway, it’s all supposition until she’s found and able to explain her behaviour,’ Puddiphat said. ‘Now, I will leave you to get to work and I will be in touch later today with an update.’
‘Can you keep James updated please, he’s very concerned about Amy.’ Rosie asked.
Puddiphat confirmed that he would and ended the call. Rosie walked into the hospital slightly more concerned than she had been ten minutes earlier.
*
Alan sat at his desk scrolling through the previous days’ football scores on his PC. The furious tapping of fingers on keyboards the only noise in his section of open plan office. He had plenty of work to be getting on with, but really wasn’t interested. His thoughts replayed his conversation with Frankie. He knew if he was ever going to make it as a comedian, he would have to devote one hundred per cent of his time to it. He glanced at the time on the bottom right hand of his screen. 10 am. It was time for his meeting with Graham.
Right on cue, his line manager appeared at his desk, peering over Alan’s shoulder to see what he was working on. Alan sat back in his chair to allow Graham a better view.
‘Decent win last night. Chuffed with that,’ Alan said, noticing Graham’s frown.
‘Yes well…’ Graham replied, ‘it’s time for our meeting. If you’re not too busy, that is.’
Alan let out a chuckle. ‘I’ve always got time for you, sir,’ he said as he got up and followed Graham down the corridor to the meeting room. Graham reached the door and held it open for Alan to enter first. ‘Ta,’ Alan said, taking a seat.
Graham closed the door behind him and sat opposite Alan, making a show of opening a folder and spreading out several sheets of paper. He looked at each page briefly, frowned and rearranged them in a different order.
‘So,’ Graham said eventually, ‘I’ve called this meeting because some senior managers are increasingly concerned about your attitude and performance. Look, Ala
n, I’ve tried covering for you, but when you’re on the internet all day instead of working, there’s little I can do. You’ve got to help me out here.’
‘You don’t have to stick up for me. I really couldn’t care less what these people think of me. But, if you want to report back to your bosses, you could point out that much of what I do requires internet access….’
‘…But you were looking at the football scores…’
‘I was just then, yes, but not all day. And you only have to look around to see people messing about all day. It’s the Civil Service for God’s sake, it’s not like a proper job.’
‘This is exactly your problem Alan, you don’t take anything seriously.’
‘I was being serious.’
‘Now I know you don’t mean that. I mean, these are exciting times to be a Civil Servant…’
Alan let out an involuntary snort.
‘…what with Brexit, and the opportunities for Trade deals. I mean, you are on the front line at an incredible time for the country.’
‘Do me a favour, Graham. For a start, Brexit is not a real word. It’s made up slang for the smartphone generation. A bite sized, snappy little sound to describe a vast array of issues that nobody really understands. It’s the verbal equivalent of an emoticon. Hashtag frowny face,’ Alan mimicked a frown and the universal sign for masturbation. ‘And Trade deals? By Christ those meetings are dull. Maybe if some of our senior managers came from council estates instead of Oxbridge, we wouldn’t get shafted by Icelandic goat herders on the price of wool.’
‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair, Alan, that deal was very beneficial.’
‘Come on, we got mugged by a bunch of farmers who think the height of sophistication is thermal underwear. And they beat us at football.’
‘You see, this is what I’m talking about,’ Graham shuffled his papers again, ‘It seems every time you open your mouth you criticise. Our senior managers do a very difficult job. Under very difficult circumstances.’
